Highest Bough
by CaptainOzone
Summary: It has been a year since the battle of Camlann, the battle that altered the course of destiny and, indirectly, brought Merlin and Mithian together. From the acceptance of magic to the perpetuation of peace, a lot has changed in their lives, but is the pair ready for yet another big change? A mini-companion to Holly Leaves & a gift for several dear friends on the Heart of Camelot.
1. Part I

Disclaimer: IDOM

A/N: Hello, all! It's been awhile, I know. :D I don't have much to say, but I certainly hope you guys enjoy!

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><p><strong>Part I<strong>

"I still don't understand why you're so excited about this, Arthur."

This wasn't the first time Merlin had voiced this opinion. In fact, he made a point to voice it whenever possible, if only to gain further amusement from any debate that followed. Arthur seemed to think that rehashing the same argument over and over again would magically make Merlin excited, too, and seeing Arthur get overly-passionate about _anything_ was far more entertaining than it should have been.

Therefore, he really was unsurprised when his friend's expression twisted into an offended pout in response. Merlin was all but immune to that pout, and Arthur, on some unconscious level, knew that. It wasn't long before his grin returned in full force. "Well, of course it's exciting, Merlin!"

"It…really isn't, Arthur. This has happened at least three times since I've become your—"

"Not my servant anymore," Arthur corrected absentmindedly. The king, still smiling, decided to speed up his pace as they crossed the grounds, and a disoriented Merlin fell swiftly behind.

It had been nearly a full year, and it still caught Merlin off guard. In his defense, a lot had changed in the past year. With Morgana dead and Mordred's whereabouts still unaccounted for, his world lost its grey hue and had become…magical. It was rather cliché to say it that way, especially when Arthur lifted the ban on magic and promoted Merlin to Court Sorcerer, but it was true, nonetheless. Everything had fallen into place, and Merlin could not remember being happier. He had become more than a high-ranking member of Camelot's court, more than just a name to be respected. Camelot had accepted him and his kind, and he had finally found himself, the person he had always wanted to be…for his kingdom, for his friends, and…for his wife.

Mithian's brilliant smile came to the forefront of his mind, and he felt a twinge of guilt and lingering panic. Banishing the memory of their last conversation—or rather, lack thereof—Merlin instead mused, _How odd,_ _that I'm still not used to saying it_. _Any of it._

"Oi, pick up the pace, Merlin!" Arthur suddenly called from over his shoulder. Several men training in the fields nearby faltered at the sound of their king's voice. Given their reactions to Arthur's presence, Merlin could only assume they were new recruits. The young men's mentors quickly reclaimed their attention with a swift smack from a quarterstaff.

"Alright, alright," Merlin said, jogging to catch up.

"Keep up. It's not every day you see this!"

And Merlin thought that Arthur'd been excited two months prior, when Halwyn told him the news. His amusement returned, and he laughed. "Honestly, Arthur, I haven't seen you this ecstatic since—"

Merlin nearly swallowed his tongue as a firm, thoughtful expression replaced the bright smile on Arthur's face. "You know, Merlin…"

The warlock's stomach churned, and he turned his gaze forward. "Oh, no," he grunted, shaking his head. "We're not going there."

"Oh, yes. Yes, we are. You can't get out of it this time."

"Why now?"

"You're the one who brought it up. Just now, in case you've 'forgotten.'"

"I did not bring it up. You just started giving me that look!"

"I think you're imagining things."

Merlin made a distressed noise in the back of his throat. "We're talking about your damn hound's new litter, not…!"

Arthur looked incredibly offended. "Merlin, Cabal is not a 'damn hound.' He's the finest hunting dog Camelot has ever seen and should be treated as such."

Of course Arthur would say that: he spoiled that dog rotten. Cabal could do no wrong. Cabal was an angel and the most perfect, well-behaved dog in Albion. Cabal could track the stealthiest stag in the land and help bring it down, too.

Yes, Merlin did indeed still hold a grudge—_multiple _grudges—and he was convinced the feeling was mutual. Cabal was a little hellion, sent to torment Merlin whenever Arthur wasn't watching, and no one could convince him otherwise.

"And he's already sired three litters since I've been in Camelot. Hell, I've helped deliver some of those pups."

"But the mother of _those _litters wasn't Halwyn's prized bitch, Merlin," Arthur explained. "And you're completely avoiding the important topic of conversation now. You've been doing that a lot lately, and I know it's all connected."

"How does…? You know I really want nothing to do with your mud-ridden, Hall-ruining beast of a dog, Arthur."

"No, not Cabal! You seem more willing to talk about Cabal and his litter than I am, and from what my wife has been telling me, that is quite a feat!" Arthur exclaimed.

Merlin snickered. "At least you're aware of your unhealthy obsession."

"That's enough." Arthur's tone became stern. "I will take Ságol and whack it over your head myself (1). You know exactly what I'm talking about."

They locked eyes, and the stupid anxiety Merlin felt over the course of the week flared again. He ran his hands over the shaft of his staff, the runes etched into it familiar and comforting. "Yes," Merlin admitted, "Fine. I'm a mess, I know, but I'd appreciate it if you dropped it."

"What is wrong with you?" Arthur asked impatiently. "I'm getting sick of it. You've been walking on thin ice around everyone, acting as though a ghost is stalking your every move, now that Gwen's just begun—"

Eyes widening, Merlin reached over to grab his friend by the shoulder, stopping him so that he could look him in the eye. In this, he couldn't have his friend thinking anything but the truth. "I am happy for you, Arthur. You know that, right? I couldn't be more happy for you."

"It isn't that, Merlin," Arthur assured, astute blue eyes searching Merlin's face. "I know you are. Guinevere knows you are, too, but can't you see that whatever's going on with this, whatever's been going on with you and Mithian this past week...it's really troubling Gwen? It's not bad…but it's not _normal_."

The warlock swallowed. He really hadn't noticed he was upsetting the queen, and shame rushed over him. "I—this is hardly the place to be talking about it, Arthur," he muttered weakly. He thought he'd been a little more discreet about it. His heartbeat quickened. "Mith is fine. We're fine."

Gods, he was a coward. He was the most cowardly of cowards.

Arthur regarded him for a moment. "Are _you _fine?"

Merlin avoided his friend's eyes. Definitely not as discreet as he had hoped. "Did Mithian put you up to this?" He almost regretted the words the moment they came out of his mouth, and he dragged his hand across his stubbly face.

"No," Arthur admitted, "this is between you and me. You really don't look well, Merlin, and since you're obviously not talking to Mithian, for _whatever _reason, I needed to intercede. I'm just trying to help."

That surprised Merlin, and without thinking, he looked down at himself. His clothes weren't that rumpled, were they? Not anymore more than usual, anyway? He didn't look unkempt from this perspective, but when was the last time he'd looked at his reflection? He strained to remember.

The week was a bit of a blur. He couldn't remember the last meaningful conversation he'd had with his wife. He couldn't remember the last time he'd given her the chance to speak her mind without chattering away about everything and nothing important, and that, too, unsettled him.

He really was a coward. A miserable coward.

"Besides, you've been acting weird, and nothing ever good ever comes when you act weird."

That elicited a small chuckle from Merlin, and he decided to hell with it. Salvaging what remained of his pride and dignity wasn't worth being this miserable. "You're going to think it's ridiculous. It _is _ridiculous. So stupid. I am so stupid, and now—"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I always find you ridiculous, Merlin. Nothing you say will change that."

Merlin sighed and took the plunge. "I…Have you seen how Mithian looks at Gwen? I mean, Gwen is positively glowing—everyone is bound to be looking at her—but I mean…"

Arthur quirked a brow as Merlin's expression faltered. "She wants a baby," Merlin murmured bluntly. "I see it in her face every time I see her and Gwen together. Every time they go off to do whatever it is they do. I don't think it really became all that clear to me until Gwen began showing."

"…I'm failing to see how this is a problem. I thought…"

"I haven't given her the chance to actually _say _it," Merlin said, now desperately aware of how awful he was. He was the worst husband in the history of Albion. "I just…"

Arthur's eyes softened as realization dawned upon him. "You're afraid."

Merlin winced. "I—I'm not ready for that, Arthur. I really don't think—I've never had a father, I don't know how to _be _a father, and I'm not all that great with children. I could hardly care for my mother's goat without being reminded to feed and milk it—"

"That's a great comfort," Arthur deadpanned, "considering you're going to be my firstborn's godfather."

Every other time Arthur had said something like that, Merlin had been full of pride and joy. The knights were still teasing him about how surprised he was when Arthur casually mentioned it the first time. This time, however, he couldn't appreciate the joke associated with his future godchild, and his self-doubt increased. "Exactly! This is serious, Arthur!"

Now that he started to speak, it was spewing from him like vomit, and laughing somewhat hysterically, he raked his hands through his hair. "Gods. I'm not ready. I'm not ready, and I have no idea how to tell Mith because she wants a child, and I want to make her happy, and I really don't want to disappoint her, but her husband's cowardice is _certainly _going to be a disappointment, and I—I don't know…"

Arthur was staring at him. "I've changed my mind," he said as Merlin trailed off.  
>"This is definitely the most ridiculous thing you've ever been anxious about." When Merlin scowled and felt his feet begin to surge forward, Arthur took hold of his shoulders and held him in place. "Merlin, listen to me. You're overreacting, and you're anything but a coward."<p>

When Merlin's face twisted into a look of disbelief, Arthur smirked. "Maybe a little cowardly. You can't know she's going to ask to begin a family if you haven't given her the chance to do so."

She didn't _have _to ask for him to already know she wanted to begin a family. "You haven't seen how she smiles whenever she rushes to help Gwen," he tried to explain. "I don't think I can…"

"If she does—" Arthur shrugged "—tell her the truth. She really isn't about to go biting your head off. She loves you, you idiot. You'll work this out together."

Merlin stared at his friend, feeling more an idiot than he ever had. Was he really that afraid? No, no that wasn't it. He'd never been afraid to tell Mithian anything. He was more afraid of seeing her face crumple, of seeing her resigned brown eyes and hearing her soft, "Okay, Merlin. We will wait."

He didn't want that.

"I'm being stupid," Merlin muttered. "I'm being _really _stupid."

Arthur's grin returned. "And you obviously are just as clueless about women as you ever were. If she _really_ wanted to tell you something," he added in a conspiratorial whisper, "she'd find a way to tell you, regardless of whether you wanted to hear it or not."

Inwardly, Merlin began flicking through his memories, looking for any subtle hints or clues that Mithian might have left him. There were some things, little things. Little touches and smiles and brushes against his forearm, all emphasizing what he already knew. "And since when have you become the expert?"

Arthur smirked. "I started to pay attention."

They continued for a few footsteps in silence before Arthur spoke again. "You're not alone, Merlin. I'm nervous, too. Happy and proud, of course, but nervous too."

"You?" Merlin asked incredulously. Somehow, the revelation helped ease Merlin's troubled heart more than anything else Arthur had said. The king had done nothing but strut around the castle and take everything in stride since he and Gwen made the announcement. "You'd hardly believe it."

The king nodded. "It's kept me up a few nights. I don't want to be the father mine was to me." Arthur stared straight ahead, and a soft smile touched his lips. "But then I finally accepted the fact that I will make mistakes—every father's bound to—and I know I have a great group of friends ready to kick my arse if necessary. When your time comes, we'll be there for you, too."

Merlin's heart warmed, and weary, he rubbed his eyes. He needed to talk to Mithian. Apologize, mostly, for his behavior. He really was an idiot. "Thank you, my friend." Sensing the conversation was beginning to get a little too sappy for Arthur, he smirked. "I personally don't think you'll need any help from us, Arthur. You're going to spoil that child rotten, if your dog is anything to go by."

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><p>(1) For those of you who haven't read Holly Leaves (or for those of you who have read it and don't remember), Ságol is the name of Merlin's staff. Nickname, anyway. The real name is unknown to everyone but Merlin and Arthur. Ságol means "stick," as that is what Arthur had taken to calling it in jest.<p> 


	2. Part II

**Part II**

_It has been a warm autumn, _Mithian mused as she gazed out the high windows. It was a dreary day, and there was but the faintest nip in the air. The clouds above were pale grey and thin, hardly a harbinger for rain or snow, and the pines of the Darkling Woods bent and danced with the wind. The snow would not come for another few weeks, she assumed.

In Nemeth, the temperature was already dropping, so Ronan had said the last time she spoke with him. She smiled, remembering the first time Merlin had excitedly dragged her from their cozy loft in the middle of the night, only to lead her toward a dusty old mirror. She had been disoriented, bleary-eyed, and confused, and his eccentric way of explaining things was often difficult enough to understand when she was _awake_, but eventually, somehow, she'd understood.

The memory of the delightful whines he made when she had kissed him senseless sent an electrifying thrill through her.

Learning how to scry, and how to manipulate that particular brand of magic in such a way that she could speak with her family in Nemeth, was the most amazing thing Merlin had ever done for her. It still drained him to maintain such a spell, and Mithian made sure to show him just how grateful she was every time he performed it for her.

The last time she spoke to her brothers and father was also around the time he began to act more strangely than usual.

Absently, she twisted the ring of holly that adorned her finger. It was a habit she couldn't seem to break, not that she had given any real effort into doing so. That ring was more than physical evidence of Merlin's oath to her (and her oath to him) upon their engagement: it was a symbol of his love, a message that transcended generations…and above all, it was a sign that no matter how bleak or dark the world became, all would be well, in the end.

_All will be well_.

"Oh, dear." The forgotten book in Mithian's lap jerked as she leapt in her seat, and she turned from the window to find Queen Guinevere lowering her sewing needle. Her friend grinned good-naturedly and teased, "I do believe I just heard you sigh audibly (1)."

Mithian blinked. "Did I?"

Gwen's brow furrowed. "Yes," she said slowly. "Are you alright?"

"Of course! Why wouldn't I be?"

"You've been staring out the window for quite some time now," Gwen teased, her tone not quite matching the light in her eyes. "I was tempted to ask what had you so captivated."

"Oh, it was nothing, Gwen. I was just thinking."

"About Merlin?"

Concern radiated from the queen, and her cautious brown eyes probed Mithian, who smiled and joked, "Who else would make me sigh so audibly?"

Gwen laughed. "Your brother Ronan is another."

"Well, that's because he's truly an imbecile sometimes. Did I tell you he broke his nose again?"

"You didn't, but after what happened last time, I can only assume it's an epic tale."

"It'll be sung across the land by the most talented of bards, I assure you," Mithian deadpanned. "Between him and Merlin, I probably will go grey far sooner than expected."

The humor died from Gwen's eyes, and she looked distinctly uncomfortable. Something had been on her friend's mind for some time now, and Mithian was sure it was going to come to light now. "Mithian…is everything…?"

The Nemethian quirked a brow as the queen stuttered. "Gwen, we've been friends for awhile now. You can speak your mind."

Gwen gnawed on her lip for only a second. "Merlin has been acting unnatural lately," she finally blurted. A delicate hand rested on the soft rise of her stomach as she rambled on, "Not his normal unnatural. Not the 'I-know-something-bad-is-about-to-happen-and-need-to-handle-it-by-myself' unnatural either. Arthur and I already ruled that one out."

That made Mithian laugh. Hard. She doubled over and laughed until tears formed in her eyes. She supposed most people would normally be offended—that two close friends were talking about her, her husband, and their business behind her back—but in this instance, she could only wonder how it is she got so lucky to have these people, these wonderful, ridiculous, and hilarious people, in her life.

"Oh, Gwen, no, no," she gasped, shaking her head. "I hope you weren't worried?"

"We both were," Gwen admitted sheepishly. "We had never seen you and Merlin at such odds before."

"I appreciate that, Gwen," Mithian said. "Merlin and I aren't at odds. Not necessarily, anyway. I'm just biding my time…and giving him the time to realize he's being foolish."

If anything, Guinevere looked more confused. "I'm…"

Mithian realized she and Merlin weren't the most…normal of couples, but she had thought it so amazingly obvious, she wondered why both Arthur and Gwen couldn't see it. "Merlin thinks I want to start a family," she explained. Smiling fondly at Guinevere's belly, she added, "Like you have."

"Oh, Mithian," Gwen choked. Mithian wasn't sure whether the tears that filled the queen's eyes were tears of joy or pity. Merlin _was _acting very strange about it all, after all. "You want…?"

For some reason, the half-formed question took her aback, and though she found Merlin's awkwardness adorable and the whole affair amusing, a small part of her, the part of her that did ache for a child of her own, felt as though it had been stomped on. If she looked at it from Arthur and Gwen's perspective, Merlin was behaving rather poorly, in all truth. He wasn't cold or distant, but it was as though a cog had gotten stuck in the usually fluid mechanics of their relationship.

It did not help that he should have been the first to ask. They should have talked about it long ago, but that wasn't Merlin. Merlin was the one who didn't want to hurt her by telling her the truth. He was the type to avoid disappointing others if he could…and the one to feel a great amount of self-doubt for having grown up as a fatherless bastard.

Yes, it stung to come to the ultimate conclusion that Merlin should have been the one to ask her first. When it came down to it, however, she felt a great amount of relief in being able to admit it at all.

"Yes," she murmured. "I do."

"But Merlin…?"

"Merlin doesn't want to admit he's not ready," Mithian said with a soft smile. "It's as obvious to me as my desire to begin a family is to him. He doesn't realize I already know, so I'm waiting for him to come to his senses and tell me without coaxing it out of him. We both know how well attempting _that _would work out for me."

Gwen surveyed Mithian with wide eyes. "You're…okay with this? With waiting?"

Mithian nodded. "If Merlin isn't ready, then I am not. _We _have to be ready before I'll seriously consider it."

Gwen must have caught something in her tone, and her eyes hardened. "Are you going to tell him how you feel about this?"

"If he is going through such great lengths to avoid disappointing me," Mithian said, fingering the spine of her book, "then there really is nothing to tell him. He already knows." She frowned. "But then again, you're right. We can't do this every time he thinks he's going to hurt me, can we?"

Gwen rolled her eyes. "Men do need more than a little push, sometimes." A smirk formed on her face, and she leaned closer to whisper, "They can be quite dense at the best of times, even ones as brilliant as our dear husbands."

~…~

"Sire!" Halwyn boomed the moment he caught sight of Arthur and Merlin nearing the royal dog kennels. The kennel-master was a broad man, his neck and arms corded with thick muscle and scars. In his prime, he was a great warrior, but a wound to the leg had crippled him, leaving him unable to run and walk without a heavy limp. Since the injury, he'd taken over the role his father had left him upon his death. Despite the misfortune that had befallen Halwyn, he was happy, as dogs were like kin to him. He became a master trainer and breeder, and his hunting dogs were of the best stock.

His bitch, Rhymhi, had whelped a few days ago. Arthur probably would have been down to see the litter sooner, but the latest council meeting had taken up more time than the king and warlock would have preferred.

"Halwyn," Arthur greeted, grinning broadly.

The two men gripped forearms, and Halwyn said, "I wasn't expecting you so early. Oi! Merlin!" The bald man released Arthur's hand to sneak his arm around Merlin, and he squeezed him to his side in an awkward, bone-crushing sort of embrace. "Lad, I didn't expect to see you here at all!"

Merlin grimaced. When he had been a servant, Arthur had often asked him to fetch Halwyn whenever a large hunting band wanted to head out. As Arthur did love to hunt, the kennel master and servant had spent quite a bit of time together. It hadn't been an amicable relationship. Merlin had always been in the man's way, and Halwyn had had no patience for it. However, that had changed when Merlin had happened to stumble upon the kennels and found Halwyn in a spot of trouble. A bitch had surprised him by going into an early labor, and it had not been going very well. With a bit of surreptitious magic, Merlin had been able to save most of the pups and their mother.

After that…the two were fast friends. When it became obvious Merlin had no touch for dogs beyond that of delivering them into the world, Halwyn had made it his personal mission to tease him every chance he had.

Struggling out of the older man's grip, Merlin nodded his head toward the king. "Couldn't escape this one here. I just _had _to see the best litter of dogs ever born."

"Aye, they certainly are beautiful!" Halwyn beamed proudly. "Come, come. Rhymi is with the pups in one of the kennels. Cabal…"

He whistled shrilly, and the hound appeared as though out of nowhere. The beast paused only momentarily to glare at Merlin, whose eyes narrowed in response, and then padded up to Arthur, tail wagging and ears perked.

The king knelt to rub at the dog's silky ears, murmuring praise and avoiding the slobbery tongue that threatened to lick his face. Merlin stood back with Halwyn and said, "The birth must have been pretty easy if you didn't call for me a few nights ago."

"Rhymi is a strong one. Best I've bred. The litter is three-and-ten, you know."

Merlin's eyebrows rose in surprise. Even Arthur looked up from Cabal at the news. "That's a big litter for a hound," the king said. "The pups are all healthy?"

The kennel-master's grin faded and motioned for Cabal to follow them. "Come see."

Despite the fact that Arthur's dogs and Merlin never seemed to get along, the warlock wouldn't say he didn't like dogs. He definitely wasn't immune to their charm. That much was clear when the three of them stuck their heads into Rhymi's kennel and his heart melted. Thirteen bundles of fur were snuggled against the warmth of their mother. The three men's entrance woke them up, and their ears began flopping every which way as they roved over each other in search of milk.

There was one pup that caught Merlin's eye. He was not the only one. "The runt hasn't been rejected, has he?" Arthur asked, watching the smallest of the litter wiggle awkwardly along. It had been left behind by its bigger brothers and sisters, who pushed and trampled and kicked and walked all over it, and when it released a little, longing cry, a pang of familiarity raced through Merlin.

That was the only cry it released. It must have sensed it would receive no pity, and it dove into the pack of pups, fighting for an open place.

Merlin barely heard Halwyn admit that Rhymi had whelped a litter too large to care for and that she had begun to show signs of knowing that the little one—a female, not a male—was already too weak to survive. It was normal for runts, especially in a litter this size, Merlin knew; he'd seen his fair share of them in Ealdor. The ones who did end up dying never could fight back.

"…might have to put the wee one out of 'er mis—"

"No!" Merlin exclaimed. Rhymi and Cabal, who still sat at Arthur's side, both growled low in their throats, and sensing their unease, the pups began to whimper.

Arthur and Halwyn shushed the dogs and turned to stare at the warlock. "What do you think happens to the runts that get rejected, Merlin?" Arthur asked in a lower tone. "It's far more humane to kill them quickly than allow them to starve."

Merlin shook his head. The runt was still fighting to squeeze between its siblings, but it was already tiring. He knew how things worked. He knew quite well. As he watched the little one struggle and wiggle its little bum, however…

_It has spirit. _

"No, I'll take it."

"What?"

"I'll take the pup."

Halwyn started to laugh. "That's a good joke, lad." When Merlin's stormy blue eyes fixated on it again, the kennel-master stopped laughing. "You're serious."

"Let me try."

Arthur fondled Cabal's ears and exchanged a dubious gaze with Halwyn. "You were just telling me," Arthur muttered in an undertone, "that you didn't think you were ready for a baby."

Merlin was quite aware of the hypocrisy. "Yes, I did."

"A four-day-old hound pup is different?"

"It is different," Merlin muttered. The responsibility it would entail was the same, probably, but he wouldn't admit that. "I need to do this."

"_Why_?" Halwyn said, interjecting himself back into the conversation. "You're not much of a dog-whisperer, Merlin, and your magic tricks will only go so far. This one was not meant to live long in the world, if 'er mother is rejecting 'er. And separating the pup from 'er mother is almost a death sentence itself! Why do you want to test fate?"

Merlin turned his stubborn gaze to his companions. "Because I think this one has a fighting chance."

* * *

><p>(1) If anyone can guess what movie inspired this quote, I will give you all the virtual cookies.<p>

**AN**: Cabal, Rhymi, and the litter are indeed bloodhounds. I've read that they were excellent stag/boar hunters and trackers in this time period. In fact, that was the very reason they were bred. Can't claim to know a lot about breeding in general, but the situation with the runt of the litter can happen, as I've read on The Daily Puppy (which is where I did most of my research for this chapter). Would the puppy have survived in these times without the proper nutrients from its mother? Can't say. Nowadays, there are special power formulas that we can buy for puppies that have been separated from their mother far too early. Point being, I apologize for any inaccuracies or unrealistic stuff here. Magic will fix everything, lol.


	3. Part III

**Part III**

Before Arthur and Merlin could leave the kennels, Halwyn had rattled off instruction after instruction about how to care for the pup. Feeding, keeping her warm, the amount of sleep she needed, how to keep her clean—the list had been endless. After seeing how serious Merlin was about this, the kennel-master had taken it as an opportunity to teach him something, and he had been adamant to see Merlin off with every bit of information he could bestow upon him.

"If she still lives in the next few weeks," Halwyn had said, "I will step back and watch the show. I am quite curious to see how the great Merlin Emrys will train his dog."

"If I can keep her away from Arthur and prevent him from doing whatever it is he does to make his dogs hate me," Merlin had joked in return, "she'll be just fine."

That was how Merlin found himself walking up into the castle with a small crate layered with soft rags of all shapes and sizes. The puppy nestled within, soft whimpers emitting every so often. It hadn't been an easy thing, separating her from Rhymi and the rest of the litter. She'd cried most of the trip back to the castle and had finally fallen into a fitful sleep.

"I cannot _wait_," Arthur snickered as they approached Merlin's chambers, "to see Mithian's face when she sees this."

"I think you're going to be disappointed," Merlin said. "She loves dogs."

Arthur shook his head and chuckled. "Do you actually _believe_ that she's not going to kill you or are you just trying to convince yourself?"

Merlin had absolutely nothing to say in response to that. He floundered for a retort and fell short. Instead, he admitted, "I might need to use a guest room for a little while."

Arthur clapped Merlin on the shoulder. "If what Halwyn says is true and the pup cries for food at any and all hours of the night, you're going to have a tiring few weeks ahead of you. I'll have one set aside for you. Just in case."

The warlock beamed. "Thanks, Arthur. I'll be sure to put silencing charms around the room and everything."

"I hope, for your sake, that this works, Merlin," Arthur said. "And as amusing as it'd be to see Mithian tanning your hide, I really do hope you won't need the guest room."

"Oh, gods," Merlin groaned. He really wasn't sure how his wife really would react, and it didn't help that this wasn't the only thing he needed to talk with her about. He was bouncing back and forth between _she's going to kill me_ and _she's going to roll her eyes and laugh at me_. There was no in between. "What am I going to tell her? _How _am I going to tell her?" A profound realization struck Merlin at that moment, and he said slowly, "I didn't think this through. I really, really didn't think this through."  
>Tossing back his head, Arthur muttered to the ceiling, "And there's the question of the century: do you <em>ever<em> think things through?"

"You're not helping."

Arthur wasn't fazed by Merlin's glare. "And you didn't deny it."

"What?" Merlin asked, pushing open his door. The magic of the place overwhelmed him, rushing forward to embrace him with all its warmth. "Arthur, that is so far from the point right now. Mithian is—"

"Mithian is what?"

~…~

It amazed Mithian how quickly Merlin's mouth sealed shut. Brilliant blue eyes peered up from underneath his dark fringe. It was getting much too long if it was covering his eyes like that, but Mithian liked it. Sure, he looked incredibly guilty, as guilty as a boy who had gone out romp in the woods instead of do his chores, but there was little she could not forgive him for when he faced her like that.

"Mithian is sure to be with Gwen," Arthur said smoothly.

She wasn't daft enough to realize the king was covering for Merlin, who offered a crooked smile. Looking between them, she wondered if Arthur hadn't already talked some sense into her husband. If Gwen attacked today, it served to reason that Arthur had targeted Merlin, too.

"And look! You are here!" Merlin exclaimed. "And not with Gwen!"

Mithian saw Arthur jam an elbow into Merlin's cloak-covered side. He grunted and shifted awkwardly, and before it could get any worse, she decided to step forward. "Yes, Gwen was feeling a little ill, so she decided to take a little nap. Arthur, I'm sure she'd—"

Arthur's scowl immediately transformed. "Is she alright? When did she—?"

"She's fine. It is just nausea, I believe, but her maid and I have helped her to bed all the same. I only just arrived back, so you may be able to speak with her before she falls asleep."

Nodding to himself, Arthur said, "Come join us for dinner later, you two, alright? I'll have someone come fetch you at dusk."

It did not escape Mithian's notice that Merlin shot the king a terrified glance, his blue eyes wide and pleading. Arthur gripped her warlock's arm, and she distinctly heard a mutter of "don't be stupid" before he nodded his farewell and exited the rooms.

The moment they were alone, Mithian approached Merlin and kissed him soundly on the mouth. His lips yielded to hers, and far too soon, she pulled away to whisper against his skin, "I think we need to talk."

"Um…right," Merlin said as Mithian backed up a step. She took hold of his left hand in order to lead them to the small cozy area by the fire. It was Mithian's place, and with the exception of the loft, which housed their bed, it was the only place untouched by Merlin's messy and somewhat chaotic experiments. "About that. I think I—"

"No, I think I should go first."

"Mithian, really, I—"

"Not this time, Merlin," she said. "I really need you to sit and listen."

Without bothering to remove his cloak, Merlin sat heavily into one of the armchairs and propped his staff against the wall next to him. She took his lack of protest as a sign to plow forward.

"You shouldn't be afraid to speak to me about anything, Merlin, you know that, right?"

"Mith, I—"

She had to fight the urge to put her hands on her hips and roll her eyes. "Do you?"

Merlin sighed. "Yes, of course I do. I have no secrets from you, you know that."

"Nor I you," Mithian said fondly. "And you should know you're not as cryptic or as stealthy as you might think." Blue eyes latched on to her, and the pair realized they were on the same page. They knew exactly how the other was feeling. That wasn't the issue. As of now, she only wanted to talk about the fact they hadn't addressed their feelings _together_. As husband and wife. "I realized today that this had to end. You weren't waiting for me to tell you I've been wanting to start a family, so I must ask: when were you going to tell me? _Were _you ever going to tell me?"

"I…" He swallowed. "I didn't want to say no to you, Mith. A baby—starting a family with you is all I could want. It might not seem like I do, after…but I really do, Mith. I just…"

"I understand you're not ready, and I understand why. For the record, I think you'd be an amazing daddy, even if you can't see it just yet."

"And you, an amazing mum," Merlin returned. "You're…not upset? Not disappointed?"

A soft smile touched her lips, and she leaned across the way to grasp the nearest hand. "I am more disappointed that you tried to hide it from me, honestly. You don't have to worry," she said, tracing intricate patterns on the back of his hand with her thumbs, "about disappointing me or about fearing how I might react if you admit your feelings, Merlin. I can't say we'll always agree—that would be a miracle within it of itself—but I would rather have you say them at all than hide them away. I want a baby, I will not lie, but I do not mind waiting in the slightest. I just want..." Her heart panged, and she sighed, unable to look him in the eye.

_They say you must do as you preach_, Mithian chided to herself.

Merlin squeezed her hand and asked in a tender tone. "What do you want?"

Another day, she'd ask. She promised herself. They had nothing but time, after all. "It's nothing important."

His eyes hardened, and he squeezed her hand. "Everything you want is important to me. That's why it was so hard for me to come to you…when I saw how you looked at Arthur, Gwen, and their little princess or princeling."

His tone was so sincere, and when he looked at her…it took her breath away. At that moment, there was no one else in his world that mattered more than she did. Love surged through her, and she cursed herself for being a coward. "I—"

A high-pitched yawn interrupted Mithian, and she sat up straight, eyes widening. "Wha—" She blinked, and suspiciously, she scanned Merlin and noticed that underneath his cloak, his right arm was tucking something bulky tightly to his side. Her brow furrowed. How had she not noticed he'd brought something in? "What was that?"

"Um, well." He gave her a sheepish smile. Taking extreme care, the warlock withdrew a small crate from the safety of his cloak. "I was…going to bring this up first because...it's, um, a little…"

Mithian peered into the crate. A wrinkled face, framed by floppy ears far to big for its head, greeted her. The puppy was mostly tan in color, but the splash of black on its back stood in stark contrast to the rest of its body. It wiggled and squirmed in the nest of rags, eyes still tightly closed.

"That…is one of Cabal's litter."

"Yes, yes, she is. The runt, to be precise."

"Uh-huh," Mithian murmured. "And what are you doing with her?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know," she repeated. "How could you _not _know, Merlin?"

"I wasn't thinking, Mith!" Merlin released a slightly hysterical chuckle. "The bitch was beginning to reject her, and I _know _that means she has as little chance of survival as a baby bird that's fallen from its nest, but when Halwyn said he was going to probably put her down himself, I asked to try…to see if I could give her a chance."

This had to be the most spontaneous thing he had ever done, but it was so _Merlin_ of him that Mithian wasn't sure if she wanted to kiss him or punch him in the arm. Before she could decide which one she wanted more, however, Merlin stammered on.

"I just want to be able to say I succeeded in raising her, taking care of her…"

The quip was on her lips before she could stop it. "You realize that you took care of Arthur for years, don't you?"

"That—" Merlin spluttered. "That was _completely _different. Arthur's life might have rested in my hands more often than not, and _maybe _I had to clean his dirty clothes and bring him breakfast. I might be able to take credit for making him a little less of a prat on top of that, but he's not…He's not _fragile_, Mith. He could take care of himself, and he wasn't _entirely _dependent on me."

Mithian's quirked eyebrows and deadpan expression made Merlin laugh. "I'm glad to see you have such faith in our king, Mithian."

"Oh, I have faith in our king _now_," Mithian corrected, a smirk on her lips. "If you hadn't straightened him out, I'm not sure I would have." When Merlin snorted, she smirked and added, "Another reason I believe you'll be an excellent father."

Merlin made a cross with his arms and swept them apart. "Being Arthur's servant and having a baby are two entirely different things!"

"Just as different as taking in a hound pup?"

"Yes, exactly!" Brow suddenly furrowing, Merlin steadied the crate between his knees, leaned back in his chair, and rubbed his eyes. "No, not exactly. I think this will be a good exercise."

Mithian blinked. "So you want to use the pup as some sort of…test?"

"Listen, Mith…I don't think it'd be such a bad idea." His eyes shone like they did whenever he had a brilliant, crazy new plan in mind. "If we can work together on this…"

"Merlin," Mithian said carefully, "a puppy will not necessarily…"

"I know that," he said excitedly, sitting forward again, "but if we go through with it, it's a huge responsibility we'll need to take on all the same."

She was highly doubtful about this whole business. In Nemeth, she'd spent more time with her father's stable- and kennel-masters than she did her own tutors. She knew that the probability of the little thing living its first week away from its mother was slim to none, and she knew better than to get attached, than to get too emotionally involved in this. Looking at her husband, she could tell he was already far past the point of logic. His long fingers carefully stroked the pup's back, and he smiled as it tried to nibble at his fingers. Soon, it would start crying about being teased and demand a real meal.

As she watched them, she was reminded of Merlin's less-than-stellar track record with Arthur's dogs. She had a theory that these dogs sensed Merlin's magic and did not trust him because of it. Horses, though, seemed to adore Merlin, so there was a definite flaw to that theory, if one argued that all intelligent animals could sense magic. She'd have to wait and see how this…

_Did I just…agree to this madness? _she asked herself.

Shaking her head, she asked, "That's not the real reason you took her, is it? This is just another reason to keep her."

Merlin looked up, his tender smile sending butterflies through her stomach. "I don't like bullies," he said simply, "and this one was giving it her all. If anyone has a chance to defy odds, she does, and where would any of us be, if not given a chance?"

Mithian had no real response for that, and she surveyed her husband, whose blue eyes were alight with hope and promise. He truly believed he could do this, and she couldn't necessarily blame him. In his own way, he was once a runt with a death sentence hanging over his head, too, yet he thrived. He succeeded beyond everyone's expectations.

Her gaze drifted to the pup in the crate, and her expression softened at the sound of its growing whimpers. It wouldn't be easy, and though Mithian predicted she and Merlin would be about ready yank their hair out by the end of the first few days, she couldn't help but think that Merlin did have a point.

And by the gods, that pup was darling. She would not turn it away now.

"I'll do it. I'll help you."

Merlin's smile lit her world, and he reclaimed her hand. This time, it was he who leaned forward to give her a kiss. "Thanks for standing by me on this, Mith."

Humming softly, Mithian slid from her seat to kneel on the ground beside Merlin. After resting her head against his knee, he began to run his clever fingers through her loose curls. She released a contented sigh, and they sat in silence for a few moments, watching the flames sizzle and crackle in the hearth.

"Mithian?" Merlin asked.

His fingers continued their rhythmic stroking of her hair, so she had no desire to lift her head. "Hm?" she murmured.

"We were interrupted earlier. You were about to tell me something. About what you wanted."

It took her a few seconds to remember, and because he cared to bring it up again, to follow through and hear her full answer, everything she might have felt bitter for was forgiven in an instant. "Oh, that." She did have to raise her head for this, to look him in the eyes. "I wanted to know how long…how long it might take you to feel ready, and I wanted to know what I could do to help you, but I think—" her eyes trailed to the pup once more "—I think I have a part of my answer."


	4. Part IV: Epilogue

**Part IV: Epilogue**

"Alright, alright!" Merlin laughed, dancing out of the threshold of the door. "Calm down, you crazy mutt."

Mithian stood a few meters away, smart enough to stay out of the hound's way as she jumped around like a drunk grasshopper, and laughed aloud at the sight.

The pup had grown. At eight weeks, she could no longer be carried around in one hand and stood at about mid-calf height. She was a bundle of energy, and Mithian was discovering that there wasn't a thing she wouldn't eat. That included a number of rare ingredients Merlin had collected for his potions and medicines. Her curiosity knew no bounds, and she was always getting into some form of trouble, often to the chagrin of Merlin, who was _supposed _to be molding her into a perfect little lady.

As Mithian had predicted, it had been tough getting to this point. The last two months blurred together in a haze of exhaustion, nurturing spells, council meetings, and feeding times. Very few of their friends thought the pup would make it, and at some point, even she felt the same. She remembered warning Merlin not to name her until she was past the worst of it.

Merlin had done as he was told, as he knew full well the folly in naming her too soon, but he'd never given up on her. As one could imagine, that puppy doted on him and was always at his heel. In a rather strange turn of events, _Arthur_ was the one telling Merlin _he _spoiled his dog.

No matter how goofy the dog, there was no doubt Merlin was going to have a very loyal companion shadowing him for years to come.

The moment Merlin managed to get the door open, the pup gawkily surged out, tripping over her paws and skidding along the stone floor. "Come on, Mith!" Merlin exclaimed, laughing brightly as he grabbed her hand. "She's not going to wait for us!"

Oddly enough, their charge did not mind spending time in the castle, but if there was ever a chance for her to go outside…well, there was no stopping her then. The only thing she loved more than rolling in the leaves was splashing about in rain puddles, and Mithian and Merlin could only imagine how she'd react to snow.

And they were soon about to find out.

The hound led them through the silent halls, having easily memorized the route Merlin took her most often whenever they headed out of the castle. She whined and snuffed at the courtyard door until Mithian opened it for her.

A blast of icy air greeted her, and she inhaled deeply, reveling in the fresh, crisp scent of winter. Even in the dead of night, she could see the glistening layer of freshly fallen snow in the courtyard. Tree boughs, long since stripped of their leaves, arched above, and they bent under the weight of the snow and ice adorning them. Everything was still but for the snowflakes drifting down.

It wasn't the first snowfall of the year, but it was certainly the first to stick.

And yes, they most certainly had snuck out of bed to enjoy it before everyone else could.

A single ball of light flared into being and soared to the center of the courtyard, where it burst into hundreds of colored sparks that floated lazily above their heads. The light reflected off the snow, making it sparkle like thousands of tiny gems. It was beautiful, and Mithian interlaced her fingers with Merlin's. He was beautiful, too, with his flushed cheeks and dancing eyes.

Before she could comment on the scene, however, he nodded his head toward their dog. "Mith, look," he whispered, his tone colored with amusement.

The pup raised a tentative paw over the first step leading down into the courtyard. After playfully batting at the fluffy blanket of snow, she buried her face into it, only to draw back with a nose covered in white. She hesitated for only a moment, as though testing to see if it would attack her, and then took off like an arrow from a bow, pouncing, spinning, and bounding up, over, and through snowdrifts.

The warlock and princess laughed at her antics, and somehow, Mithian found herself being yanked out into the snow by Merlin. Her cloak soon became dusted with snow, not only from the snowfall itself but also from the carefully aimed snowball that her childish husband had been stupid enough to throw at her back.

They didn't care that the rest of the castle slept. The moment Mithian caught that smirk of Merlin's, an all out war broke out. Snowballs flew, and laughter erupted as they chased after each other and tripped over their own feet. Whenever Merlin attempted to cheat with magic, she gasped out an admonishment and renewed her efforts. She didn't necessarily play fair either and tackled him to the ground more than once to steal a kiss. A few times, the puppy joined them, gleefully pouncing, nipping, or chasing after the snowballs they tossed for her.

Soon enough, the pair, wet and chilled to the bone, called a truce and lay in the snow beneath a cluster of holly trees, chests heaving with breathless laughter. The pup wiggled to their sides, equally as soaked as her masters.

"Eirwen," Merlin said suddenly.

Mithian turned her head. "What?"

"Eirwen," he repeated, fondling his dog's ears. "I think that is what I'd like to call her."

_White snow, _Mithian translated. "That is quite fitting."

They fell into silence again, and though she began to shiver with cold, she watched the snow and faery lights dance above her and wanted the moment to last forever.

"Mith?"

"Yes?"

Merlin heaved himself up, prompting Mithian to do the same. He cuddled against her, and suddenly, warmth spread through her bones. As he hugged her to his side and kissed the top of her head, she looked up to see gold fading from his eyes.

"I've been thinking," Merlin began.

"You're always thinking, Merlin," Mithian murmured.

She felt him smile against her hair. "I've been thinking about this 'test,' this exercise, we did with Eirwen…and I've been thinking about us. I think I've realized something."

The princess' heart fluttered, and now dry and warm, thanks to Merlin's magic, she maneuvered so that she was facing him. "What did you realize?" she whispered.

"I realized…that if we waited until I felt ready…we'd be waiting a lifetime."

Once she understood what he was saying, Mithian's eyes flooded with tears, and choking back a tearful giggle, she reached forward to stroke his face. "Really?"

"Yeah," he said, chuckling and pressing his forehead against hers. "Let's start a family.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> Eirwen's prancing about in the snow was inspired by the Buzzfeed article "These 3 Vines Of A Puppy Playing In The Snow For The First Time Are The Only Internet Thing You Need" (and it's no exaggeration. Go look and try not to "aawwww" out loud, I dare you).

I hope you guys enjoyed this! Happy Holidays!


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